


Locked Rooms (Part I)

by Saki101



Series: Experiments [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, Hounds of Baskerville, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saki101/pseuds/Saki101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The experimentor is part of the experiment.</p><p>Excerpt:  Sherlock thought the drug wasn’t out of John’s system and that might explain the lingering vertigo, but John wondered.  He’d had enough fears locked away before they ever went to Dartmoor.  Chemical enhancement had hardly been necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked Rooms (Part I)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Chimera](http://archiveofourown.org/works/337293) which is the sixth story in the _Experiments Series_ which begins with [Zygotmata](http://archiveofourown.org/works/331460).

Sherlock stopped abruptly at the door of the kitchen, one arm stretched back grasping John’s hand. John bumped into him.

John almost asked who was there, there were always surprising people materialising unannounced in their sitting room. He’d nearly whispered the question before deciding silence would be even more prudent. There was something in the set of Sherlock’s shoulders that said danger to John. Sherlock still had John’s hand. Had pulled it in front of him and tightened his grip. John settled for a barely audible interrogatory hum. Sherlock was silent. John leaned his head against Sherlock’s back and waited.

“I’m not sure whether your room or mine is best,” Sherlock finally said and his voice was low, but not a whisper. 

_No one in the sitting room then._ “Your room’s closer,” John replied.

“But where will you feel more comfortable, less threatened?” Sherlock murmured and was quiet again.

John thought to ask why that should matter, but he could feel the tension in the muscles of Sherlock’s back. He was thinking fast. John was surprised Sherlock hadn’t pushed him away. He didn’t like distractions when he was thinking that fast. _Unless I’m not even a distraction…_ John exhaled. _Is that why you want to choose the least threatening location? You know how I’m feeling now?”_

Sherlock pulled John’s hand up. John had to lift his head, move to the side a little so his arm could reach. Sherlock rubbed John’s knuckles against his lips. It was something Sherlock did with his own hand when he was thinking.

John let his forehead rest against the back of Sherlock’s arm. It was softer than the middle of his back. John could feel the muscles ripple as Sherlock moved their arms. _Is this how the creature with four arms and four legs felt?_ The warmth of Sherlock's skin seeped through the thin fabric. _You think the drug isn’t out of my system, that it explains the lingering vertigo, but I wonder. I had enough fears locked away before we ever went to Dartmoor. Chemical enhancement was hardly necessary._

“The threat of the beast in the misty woods, the unexplained noises in the dark there didn’t trouble you, but my being emotional did and the idea of the animal being in the lab seemed to,” Sherlock thought aloud. He looked down over his shoulder at John. “You’re not very familiar with my room. Unfamiliarity often equals disquiet, but you have nightmares in your own room. Our experience in the sitting room has produced selective amnesia.” Sherlock glanced back at the kitchen, the science equipment they’d pushed aside on the table to eat, the refrigerator with its body parts. “Which room is least disturbing for you?” Sherlock asked.

John didn’t look up, pondered it. He would have thought the sitting room should have been fine. They spent so much time there together, but the CIA bloke had been there and Mrs Hudson crying. Anderson and Donovan and the rest had been poking and sneering there and in the kitchen, too. Everywhere probably, but he’d seen them in those rooms, heard their blinkered incomprehension and resentment. Scores of clients had traipsed through, of course, with their hopes and woes. Mycroft had sat there often enough and Irene. God, she’d been in Sherlock’s room as well, in his bed. How crowded their life was. But no, he didn’t want Sherlock in his own room just yet. Maybe in time Sherlock could chase the nightmares away or replace them, but not yet. “Your room, I think,” John said, looking up. _Irene notwithstanding._ Sherlock was watching John with the look in his eyes that he got when his thoughts were moving so fast he had almost stopped taking in visual data. _Demon's dreaming eyes...which drew me across the room to you. This reveals exactly what about me?_

************ 

John rearranged the pillows behind his back, observed Sherlock locking the door. It made him relax a bit more. _Shouldn’t you locking me in make me tense?_ John watched Sherlock walk towards him. “I like being in a locked room with you,” John commented as Sherlock rolled over him to reach the other side of the bed rather than walking around it.

“My presence seems to be an important variable,” Sherlock conceded, loosening the tie of his dressing gown a little before stretching out on his side facing John, his head propped up on his elbow. He lay his other hand on John’s shin, just below the knee where the robe was open. “But there does appear to be a residual chemical effect and there really shouldn’t be. I went over Frankland’s notes and the chemical should be gone by now. Of course, I haven’t had time to study the sample.”

“You’ve got a sample?” John exclaimed, but really couldn’t be too surprised. Of course, if a sample were to be had, Sherlock would have it and would need to study it. He met Sherlock’s eyes. “I don’t…” 

Sherlock shook his head. “I wouldn’t, John. The effect on you is clearly too long-lasting. Might try it on myself though.”

“No!”

“You didn’t like the effects it had on me,” Sherlock stated.

“No,” John agreed. _Because you weren’t the Sherlock I know or because I can’t deal with your being vulnerable?_ John frowned. He wasn’t happy with that train of thought. _You told me you weren’t a hero. I can accept your peccadillos, welcome them even, but not a real weakness, a real need, more than just tea or note-taking._ John shook his head, that wasn’t right. He’d killed someone to protect Sherlock less than forty-eight hours after setting eyes on him. John knew Sherlock had weaknesses, potentially fatal ones. 

His eyes drifted along Sherlock’s body. The physical reaction was difficult to hide in only a dressing gown. _Will you tell me what I did to your beautiful body?_ John’s hand twitched, he stayed it, his eyes widening. He remembered pushing the robe off the shoulder as he worked his way down from Sherlock’s ear, brushed his lips along the swell of bone and muscle, pulled back to look. The skin was almost translucent, the tracery of blue veins visible, vulnerable. He had touched one with the tip of his tongue, had thought how fragile life was. As a doctor, John knew that. As a soldier, John knew that. _But you mustn't be fragile, Sherlock. I want you to be a hero who cannot die because you make it possible for me to live in the locked room._

John raised his eyes to meet Sherlock’s. _But you aren’t a hero, you’re a man, with a heart and a soul. What might I do to your beautiful soul if we stay together in this locked room? What have I already done?_ John felt the sweat breaking out on his skin. _Surely Sherlock, you can sense my fear._


End file.
